Clichéd Affections
by faithfully yours forever
Summary: Cam hates stereotypes. Guess who else hates them too? CASSIE. Cam-centric. Oneshot. Dedicated to Heart. Sorry, I know it sucks, but, read and ENJOY, anyway.


**Hello everyone! First, thanks to all who reviewed my second story, **_**Massie's Strength**_**, I really appreciate it! Second, this was the fourth fanfic that I wrote for my English assignment this year. (For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, see my profile for more info.) **

**So, yea, this is a failed attempt at a CASSIE. Sorry if I disappoint.**

**Dedicated to Heart (**_**Your favorite sweetHEART)**_** because she finds Cameron Fisher to be the sexiest man alive! Wait, he's not real. Oops.**

**Once again, I don't own anything, not the characters, nothing. So, yea, I'm gonna stop blabbing and let you see the story. Read and enjoy, review if you wanna. :)**

* * *

**Clichéd Affections**

Cameron Fisher hated stereotypes. Player jocks, dumb blondes, geeky marching bands, he hated it all. He hated the fact that the world just randomly grouped you with other people. He hated that way the people expected you to be exactly like what you were labeled. Like you had to fit some stupid mold or example. It was plain _bullshit_.

Unfortunately for him, he was in Westchester. He was stuck in a place where stereotypes were mandatory. Even more unfortunately, he himself got stuck with a stereotype: _the sweet romanticist_. What. The. _Fuck_.

Not that that he was ashamed of being romantic, rather, he was proud that he wasn't some perverted player who played with girls and their emotions. But he hated the expectation he had to live up to. He hated that people expected him to be sweet and romantic all the time. Hated the fact that he had to live up to something.

Because now, he couldn't be himself. And it was seriously starting to piss him off. People were expecting him to be so sweet and mellow, and laid-back, when sometimes he just wanted to just chill out, to pulverize someone on you Xbox, to start cursing, to just get away from the lovey-dovey poems Claire kept stuffing in his locker.

Because while he didn't mind spending money on a bunch of roses for her on a date, or leaving the occasional gummy bears on her front porch, he hated the fact that Claire expected him to do that 24/7/365 days a year. He hated how clingy she would get, expecting him to let her sit on his lap, to give her kisses every hours or so, to just be her Prince Charming. He hated how she wanted them to be the cutesy couple, to spend afternoons together, just lounging around in her bedroom. He hated how she pouted when she didn't get a CD when she expected it.

Cam sometimes wished that he hadn't chose Claire. He was seriously starting to regret giving her those gummy bears four years ago in seventh grade. Sure, she was cute and funny, but she was seriously starting to freak him out. The way she almost demanded that he hold her hand, how she complained when he didn't put his arm around her waist "correctly," it was as if she thought they were married.

If only people weren't so damn stereotypical. Now, every time he cussed, every time he simply cancelled a date with Claire, every time he smiled at other girls, people would give him dirty looks. What was so wrong with saying "fuck" once in a while? And was it really so bad that he bailed on watching "The Notebook" _again _to study for his math test? And was it now a crime to crack a smile at Kristen's soccer stories during lunch? Seriously, yes, Cam was romantic, but he was also a guy. He wasn't some love-obsessed teenage girl, who cried a love stories and who spent hours planning the perfect date. He was your average hormonal teenage boy, who realized that girls weren't dolls to toy with. He didn't mind watching love stories, he didn't mind ending every conversation with "You're adorable," and he didn't mind holding your hand, and giving you a kiss on the cheek. But he also didn't want to spend every second of every day together, he didn't want to spend all of his time kissing, he didn't want to have to worry about having to send flowers and candy and CDs on time.

Most of all, he didn't want to put up with any stupid love drama. They were sixteen, for Christ's sake. Wasn't this supposed to be the time when they partied and got drunk, and had sex? So why the hell was Claire insisting that they act so cute and in "love," but she refused to get in bed with him? They'd been together for four years, and as much as Cam hated to admit it, his eyes did linger on her chest. He noticed the curve of her waist, he "incorrectly" put his arm around it, he noticed her tiny hips. But every time he pulled her close when they were on her bed, she flinched, and gave him the darkest look. It was almost as if, he was a _player_ for wanting to have sex with the girl he was dating for _four fucking years. _Damn stereotypical world.

He had always thought that everyone one else was okay with the stereotypes. He never thought that anyone would have the same hatred for stereotypes as he did. And the last person he had expected to hate stereotypes would be Massie Block.

* * *

It was a night to remember. A dream that turned into reality. It was two weeks ago, when my mom had dragged him off to New Jersey to visit family. After the typical hugging, and pinching of the cheeks, and "My, have you grown," I snuck out of the house and escaped to the beach. Since my cousins or aunts or whatever relation they were to me had chosen the reunion to be in Ocean City, it was pretty easy to avoid the party. And besides, who really wanted to spend a perfectly decent night inside, when you could be on the beach?

The beach has always been one of my favorite places to go. It was one of the few places I could actually be myself. Walking along the boardwalk, hearing the ocean waves; it made me forget about Claire and her drama back home. It was just so peaceful and serene, that I was seriously starting to consider staying here forever.

"It's beautiful here," someone whispered next me, her voice soft and calm.

I glanced up, shaking myself out of my reverie, and glanced at her. Her long, chocolate hair was hanging down her back, her expression was wistful and dreamy, her amber eyes soft and gentle. She looked natural and so at peace, so unlike from her Westchester self. She was a beauty everyday, in any way, but here, her beauty was magnified.

"Yeah, it is," I replied, "I'm seriously considering running away and living here."

She smiled. Her smile seemed so natural here. It was soft and wispy, unlike her stiff smile back at home. Then again, everything about her seemed so much more relaxed here. Her hair was in soft curls, reaching towards her tiny, perky butt, glowing in the soft sun. At home, it was straight, and dull, and clichéd. It was almost as if the ocean was her home, and her refuge.

"If you do decide to stay here forever, take me with you," she said, as she twirled one brunette curl around her finger.

I glanced at her. She was beautiful, as always, but here she seemed so free. Here, she seemed to have no care in the world, and she seemed to be so blissful and content.

"Why?" I asked, fascinated with this Massie Block.

"Because I hate Westchester," she responded simply, lifting her amber eyes to meet my blue and green one. "Everyone expects me to be someone else. They expect me to be a leader to take charge, to set trends. They expect me to wear a mask, to be someone else. Sometimes I think that there is no Massie Block. I'm a different person for different people. My parents want me to have perfect grades, to be the ideal daughter, to be flawless, to be number one, to be the best. My friends want me to tell them how to act, what to wear, how to feel. And, Derrick, well, he expects me to put on a show, everyday. He wants me to act like we're in love just so he looks cool and popular. They're all trying to shove me into a mold, and I hate how stereotypical it all is."

I was surprised. I had always assumed that she loved stereotypes. She was the queen bee, the alpha, the self-proclaimed ruler of OCD's social scene. And from her competitive nature, I had always assumed that she loved being number one, she enjoyed being at the top of the pyramid. I had always taken for granted that she adored the stereotypical world of Westchester.

"You know, I've always been jealous of Claire," she said quietly. "I've had a crush on you since seventh grade."

Again, I was surprised. I had known about Massie's crush on me in seventh grade, but I had never thought that she had kept that crush.

I glanced at her, her eyes were unashamed. "Why?"

She smiled. "Because you seemed so different from the rest of the guys. All of them are so clichéd and unoriginal, but you were so unlike them. People wanted you to be the romantic one, the 'Prince Charming,' but you weren't really one. Aside from the gummy bears and the roses; you just seemed, like, well, like Cam."

I grabbed her hand. She glanced at me, her eyes wide, surprised, but at the same time, hopeful. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice soft and so damn intoxicating.

I pulled her close, close enough for us to start dancing the waltz, close enough to smell her perfume, close enough to feel her chest against mine. "I'm trying to remember why I ever chose Claire instead of you," I whispered into her ear.

She pulled away. "Cam, we can't do this," she whispered, not meeting my eyes. "We just can't."

I pulled her close again, my arms around her tiny waist. "And why not?"

She glanced up at me, her normally fierce amber eyes full of longing, and lust. "Because I don't think it's Massie Block etiquette to cheat on your best friend's boyfriend," she whispered as she put her arms around my neck, her fingers twirling my black hair.

I ran my hands up and down her back, not really giving a care about who saw. "Oh, really? Care to tell me a little more about Massie Block?"

She gave me a smile, a beautiful smile that made me want to remove her flimsy tank top, as her fingers moved from my neck to my chest, playing with the zipper on my leather jacket. She stood tiptoes, her small, ski-slope nose touching mine, her long, soft eyelashes brushing against my cheeks, her lips inches away form mine. "You should know that you're intoxicating me with your perfection, and I don't date anyone more perfect than I am," she whispered teasingly, before turning away and running towards the ocean, laughing.

I caught up with her easily and scooped her up into my arms. "Well, that's too bad, Massie Block, because you're kind of intoxicating me," I whispered before pulling her face to my face, pressing my lips against hers, and kissing her like no one else existed.

I set her down onto the wet sand, pulling her towards me, feeling every womanly curve that she had in her tiny, petite body, running my fingers through her silky, soft hair, and trying to ignore my lungs which felt like they were about to burst from a lack of oxygen. Because I didn't want to stop kissing her, I didn't want to stop for oxygen, I didn't want to stop for any damn thing, I just wanted to keep on kissing her.

She pulled away, though, but suddenly, we were one again, her hands knotted in my hair, her tongue, exploring my mouth, running over my teeth, in the sexiest, most ferocious way I've ever experienced. Then, her hands were running up and down my body, rolling me over, until she was the one on top, kissing my cheek, my neck, telling me she loved me.

And suddenly, she started giggling uncontrollably, for no reason at all.

I raised my eyebrow at her. "So, any particular reason why you stopped kissing me, or do you enjoy torturing me?"

She smiled her nauseatingly beautiful smile at me. "You do realize just how romantically clichéd and banal this is, right? Kissing on a beach in the middle of the sunset?"

I glanced at the red and deep orange and navy sky, and back at her amber eyes, which were sparkling playfully at me, to back at her petite body. I shrugged. "Who cares?"

She smiled and gave me a long, passionate kiss that permanently erased every stupid reason why I liked Claire's kisses, and stood up. "I hate stereotypes, remember?"

I sat up and raised my eyebrow. "Oh, really? So you'd prefer it if we did this in Westchester?"

She smiled. "How about dinner, then? Tomorrow night, The Island Grill, 7pm" she asked before pulling me into another one of her invigorating kisses. And with a quick smile and an even quicker kiss on the cheek, she was gone, without even bothering to hear my response.

But, being Massie Block, she couldn't leave without leaving her legacy. So it was no surprise, when I read the text she gave me.

**Massie: Don't you DARE forget the roses. ;)**

And I couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**Alright, I know that it's clichéd what Massie texts, and I know that she's kinda sorta telling Cam to be romantic, but my whole point was to show that they have to live up to their stereotypes, but that when they're together, they CAN be themselves. Besides, Cam IS a romantic, he just hates that people expect him to be romantic all the time. So does that make sense? Or does it only make sense in my head?**

**Either way, I think I have proven that I am incapable of writing a Cassie. Well, give me your thoughts on this oneshot. Review, please? No pressure though. :) Thanks for everything.**

**Smile! :D**

**- Faith. :)**


End file.
